


you came at the right time

by lady_mab



Series: No Spooky Archives!AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no spooky archives, vaguely chronological
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: A collection of shorter fic for the no-spooky-archives jon/gerry/martin AU, largely cross-posted from tumblr.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: No Spooky Archives!AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737265
Comments: 82
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I never chose this  
> But you came at the right time  
> Follow you to roses  
> Show me to the sunshine  
> Sunseeker  
> You make me a believer  
> Sunseeker  
> Did you know I need you?  
> \- The Naked and Famous' "[Sunseeker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndhMYg3tw3M)"

Martin fidgets nervously as Jon stares at the letter of resignation. 

"You're dissatisfied with your position here?" Jon finally manages, uncertain what his tone is attempting to apply without his say-so. He tries to clear his throat, but it turns into an awkward sort of grunt instead. 

"No, not... Not really." 

"Not really?" 

Martin visibly winces, and then Jon does a sympathy wince as his words catch up with him. "This is just a... a _better_ opportunity," Martin says with a nod, as if he had been practicing those words and finally got them out. "There's not a lot of room for growth here." 

"You seem quite confident that Gertrude won't keel over any day now..." Jon mutters that more to himself as he sets the letter back on his desk. 

A laugh is startled out of Martin, who then blushes when Jon gives a wry half-smile. "I'm not going to confirm or deny that line of inquiry, Mister Sims." 

With a heavy sigh, Jon pushes the letter back across the table. "I... understand why you are looking to leave the company. From a professional standpoint, yes, it is a very good move. A lot of risk, as the Lukas House is still new. But..." Jon hesitates, warring with his ever stoic persona and the honesty that he has been attempting to try out -- which still feels like an ill-fitting coat, but is getting easier. "You're a solid editor, and a lot of clients like working with you. You'll be a worthy rival in no time." 

Martin's smile is shy, and he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Thank you." 

"We will still be sad to see you go." 

"You'll hardly notice that I'm gone," Martin argues. 

Jon lifts an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that." Martin goes red, and Jon pales as the implication of his words sinks into his head. "I mean... Tim will now be in here nonstop since he won't have you to distract, and I _know_ that you're the one who keeps the break room well-stocked." 

"Sasha was doing it long before I did--" 

"Are you _sure_ I can't convince you to stay?" The words tumble out before he can stop them, but he doesn't try to correct himself. 

Martin opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. After a brief, visible struggle, he asks, "Are you saying that as my boss or my friend?" 

Jon doesn't know how to respond, so he just fiddles with his pen instead. 

Eventually, Martin pushes himself to his feet and takes the letter from the desk. "Unless you think Gertrude or Elias have a really great counter-offer up their sleeves for _me_ , then I'm going to be taking this one." 

Jon takes the offered life-line away out of the awkward waters he had steered the conversation into. "Of course. Like I said: It is a good career move. I will support you, so let me know if there is anything you need." 

"Thank you." Martin takes the first step towards the door, then stops. 

He looks at the letter in his hand, then, straightening his posture and holding his chin up high, Martin turns and looks at Jon. 

Nervous, Jon looks back. Waiting. 

"It won't all be so bad," Martin says confidently. "Now I'll be able to ask you out on a date since you won't be my direct superior." 

Jon can practically hear the error noise his own brain makes as it grinds to a halt. "Oh. I. Yes." His fingers renew their fidgeting with the pen with a renewed vigor. "Yes, I suppose that will be something to look forward to." 

And then Martin smiles in a way that makes Jon fumble the pen and send it skittering across the surface of the desk -- clattering off the opposite end and onto the floor. 

Martin laughs softly and stoops to pick up the pen. He places it gently on the edge of the desk, far enough away that Jon doesn't feel compelled to cross the distance between them just yet. "I'll just go give this to Gertrude then?" He holds up the letter, and Jon snaps back into attention. 

"Yes, uh-- That will be fine. Right. Um. Congratulations." 

He grins, cheeks flush with success, and pulls open the door to Jon's office. 

Then he's gone from sight, though Jon can hear him deflecting a question from Tim about just _what_ he was doing in "the boss's office" for so long.

Jon has to struggle to get his expression back in check before the inevitable moment when Tim comes to try a second line of inquiry.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jon.” 

“Yes, Martin?” 

“Jon, I am. A little bit drunk!” Martin giggles as he follows (though they’re trying to go to his apartment, so he should be the one leading) after. 

Jon can’t help the amused smile and shake of his head. “Oh, I’m well aware.” 

Martin catches onto his hand and pulls Jon back to match his pace. “It was my going away party! I had to!” 

“Of course.” 

“You don’t sound like you believe me.” 

Jon opens his mouth, then looks down at where Martin holds his hand. “You didn’t have to keep accepting all the drinks from Tim.” 

Martin hiccups in response. 

They left the bar about twenty minutes before, Tim swearing up and down that the only one capable of getting Martin home safely was Jon. It was a thinly veiled attempt at being ‘helpful’, although it was also his fault to start that Martin is solidly in the ‘drunk’ column for the night. 

Which renders this whole set up completely moot, as far as Jon is concerned. 

There’s another hiccup from Martin, who then veers sharply to the right and collides with Jon in an attempt to take the corner. “I’m sorryyyyy,” Martin groans as he regains the distance between the two of them. 

They’re still holding hands. 

“For what?” Jon asks, because if anyone should be apologizing, it should be Tim. 

“I really want to kiss you.” 

Jon pulls up short, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He knew this. _Hell_ , everyone knew it, and that was what Tim was trying to give Martin the courage to do with pint after pint. Jon has known for some time that Martin liked him, admitted as much when he announced his resignation, and even still. 

Hearing it out loud is something completely different. 

“You’re drunk,” Jon finally says, resuming his walk. 

“I know.” Martin has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched up to the level of his ears. “I was nervous.” 

Jon takes a moment to consider this — to consider his own nerves and just what exactly he might be hoping for. Then, after clearing his throat, he attempts, “What are you doing on Friday?” 

Martin thinks, then perks up. “Today is Friday!” 

He laughs and shakes his head. “Next Friday. A week from today.” 

There’s another pause for thought. “Nothing that I know of. Why?” 

Jon wonders if this is because Martin is drunk or if he really is this obtuse — or just really convinced that the infatuation is one-sided, which Jon can’t be too mad about. He wasn’t exactly the easiest supervisor to have, and then had to confront the issue of actually _having_ feelings for someone who was a direct report. 

So he hopes that his intentions are at least clear enough as he lets his thumb brush over the backs of Martin’s knuckles as he says, as casually as he can manage, “I’d like to take you out to dinner.” 

It’s Martin’s turn to pull to a stop. They’re so close to Martin’s apartment, or at least Jon thinks they are, because it is hard to focus on maintaining a calm exterior and pay attention to the streets they pass. 

Martin stares at him with wide eyes, mouth open just a degree, as if he wants to try and say something. 

Jon wonders if he should try a more obvious tactic, though the first try was rather straightforward, but then Martin grins — the expression lighting up his entire face. 

“Yes… Yes! Yeah I would— I would like that!” he says enthusiastically, squeezing Jon’s hand. “A week from today.” 

“Seven PM okay? It will be your first week at a new job, but—” 

“Seven is great. Should be fine. I’ll text you.” If possible, Martin’s expression brightens even further. “I get to text you for non-work things now.” 

Jon chuckles, and figures that _maybe this isn’t such a bad evening after all_. “Yes, you do.” 

Martin hums delightedly and swings their joined hands together. “Good.” 

“Good. Now let me finish walking you home.” 

“I always knew there was a reason I liked you,” Martin says with the honesty of a drunk. 

Jon knows not to take it too seriously, but he can feel the tips of his ears heat up anyway. 


	3. Chapter 3

Martin is filled with emotional bees. 

They haven’t stopped vibrating in the confines of his chest, making him fumble and stutter all evening. 

Jon is incredibly patient — which, they’ve been working together for almost two years now, Martin knows that the prickly man when they first met was just a front that quickly melted away. This shouldn’t be a surprising fact, but it is, and so, Martin is filled with emotional bees. 

As in the bees are the result of his emotions, not the bees are crying, but they might also be crying at how much Martin is making a fool of himself. He’s not too certain. 

All he does know is that, after dinner, when Martin (voice cracking in an embarrassing way) asks Jon back to his place, Jon says yes. 

When Jon walked him home the week before, that awful moment when Martin was too drunk to actually act, and Jon was too polite to say anything, they had parted at the door once Jon made sure Marin did actually have his keys. Jon carefully separated his hand from Martin’s, the tips of his fingers lingering for just long enough for Martin to realize that _no_ , he’s not just imagining this. There had been a moment when Martin thought he might have actually gone after Jon, but he was drunk. 

The smartest option was what he did: close the door, and mentally berate himself for being such an idiot. 

This time, though, things are easier. _Well_ , things are sober. _Well_ , actually, they have a very charming evening. Martin drinks water. Jon has a glass of wine with his fish. 

Martin takes in all the details he can, because now he _can_ be brazen about it. This is a date. Martin is allowed to stare and Jon is still polite enough not to point it out, and when at one point during the dinner when Jon sets down his glass and leaves his hand sitting on the table, Martin reaches out and takes it in his own because he can’t help it. 

The sentence that Jon was in the middle of (a rant or some other about a client they had that Tim had only aggravated, and honestly, Martin was listening, but then Jon’s hand distracted him) stutters to a stop and, after a beat, a small smile flits across Jon’s face before he pulls his hand back and tucks it out of sight. 

They argue over the check (Jon covers it, because ‘I’m the one that asked you out for dinner’), and then Martin asks if Jon wants to come back to his place. 

“Just… I’m having a nice time,” Martin tries to explain. What he means is _I don’t want this to end_. 

Jon gives him that small, private smile again. “Alright.” 

And this time, Jon takes Martin’s hand in his. 

They have to catch the train a few stops, and because it’s Friday evening, they have to cram close together. Tentative, Martin puts his hand on the small of Jon’s back to help keep him steady. Jon leans into him in response, scrolling through a news article on his phone without even hesitating. 

Suddenly, too suddenly almost, they’re back at Martin’s apartment, and he’s unlocking the door with hands filled with emotional bees and telling Jon to make himself comfortable. Would he like something to drink? Wine, tea, water— 

“Martin,” Jon says from the couch, and Martin immediately falls silent. 

He feels frozen, despite the vibrating bees, waiting for what will happen next. 

Jon pats the spot next to him. “Sit with me.” 

Martin does. 

He can’t stop staring at Jon, eyes wide and _Christ_ , painfully hopeful, he doesn’t even need to see his reflection to know how he must look right now. 

But Jon isn’t looking at him directly. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he reaches out and takes Martin’s hand again. 

So instead, Martin watches the small flickers that dance across Jon’s face — the way the corners of his eyes soften as his fingers brush over the back of Martin’s hand, the way the shadows of his cheeks shift as he turns Martin’s hand over and traces a line across his palm. The way he takes his lower lip in between his teeth for the briefest moment, the small dart of tongue as he licks his lips nervously. 

Martin now can’t look away from Jon’s lips. 

It takes several seconds for him to realize that Jon is actually saying his name, and the second before he jumps his gaze back up, he marvels at the way that Jon’s mouth forms his name with an increasingly amused smile. 

He is surprised to find that Jon actually looks _nervous_. Not as nervous as Martin feels, but somewhere close. 

Jon lifts his hand, and it hesitates in the space between them. 

Martin helps close the distance, covering Jon’s hand with his own and bringing it to his cheek. 

“I think…” Jon starts, slowly, cautiously, “if you still wanted to kiss me—”

Martin surprises the both of them by laughing, breath huffing over Jon’s palm as he turns his face into the touch. “Jon, I’ve wanted to kiss you for like, two years.” 

“O-Oh…” 

“So yeah, I want to.” He pauses and lifts his eyes to Jon’s, pleased to see the wide-eyed want in the other man’s gaze as well. “Can I?” 

“Please,” Jon says, then frowns and says, “Yes, I mean, yes—” 

Martin laughs and kisses him. 

There is a moment when he can feel Jon stiffen, and Martin starts to pull away — wondering just what is wrong, what he can do to fix it. But then Jon’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug him back and any sense of trepidation is gone. 

The bees melt away with a pleased hum, and from beneath him, Martin can feel Jon’s laughter through the kiss. 

Jon pulls Martin in toward him, closer still as he reclines into the cushions of the couch. Martin follows willingly, enjoying the fingers in his hair, the easy slide of lips, the happy trill his heart makes with each little sound Jon makes. 

Eventually, slowly, Jon draws away from the kiss. His hair is fanned out on the pillow beneath him, and there is a content, hazy half-smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There,” he says, as if proving a point, hands exploring the range of Martin’s arms, shoulders, and back with idle curiosity. The sort of pace that promises further investigation at their own leisure. “Worth the wait.” 

Martin can’t stop grinning. “Listen. If I could have been doing this sooner, I would have been.” He keeps himself held up with one hand pressed against the arm of the couch, letting the other lift from the cushion and draw a line from Jon’s waist to his stomach. “Stay the night,” he says before he can stop himself. 

The warmth of Jon’s expression immediately disappears behind a shutter. “I don’t… I—” He struggles for the words, and Martin mentally kicks himself. 

“Not… for anything. I mean. I would like to just… I just want you to be here.” Martin presses his hand to Jon’s chest, feeling the nervous flutter of the heart beneath. “I want to wake up with you. I want to talk with you more. I mean, not if you don’t want to. I won’t keep you, but—” 

Jon’s hands slip from where they were perched like flighty birds on Martin’s shoulders, and come to land on his cheeks. He pulls Martin down for a soft kiss. “Alright. I’ll stay.” Another kiss, then, softer, “I’ll stay.” 

Martin closes his eyes as he’s guided in for another kiss, and gladly sinks into it. 


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a commotion of voices, and an indistinct yell before a door slams shut. 

Jon ignores it, because sometimes there are just people like that. Dissatisfied with one thing or another. And they weren’t in his office yelling, so he couldn’t care less. 

Tim is the first one to bring it up. “Did you _see_ that?” 

“No,” Jon says without even looking up from the manuscript he’s attempting to not murder with a red pen (he’s not doing too well). 

“Gertrude has a grandson and he’s _incredibly_ hot.” 

Jon’s pen pauses long enough for him to realize that he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to know, anything about Gertrude’s personal life that she hasn’t already divulged to the staff. “Good for her.” 

Tim drops down into the chair on the other side of his desk. “He just stormed into her office like a tall, hot, goth tornado.” 

“ _Tim_ ,” Jon sighs, setting the pen down so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, anything to be doing?” 

“Yeah, and I want you to come with me.” 

“What?” 

“I’m gonna go pop into Gertrude’s office, bring that new client brief to her — maybe introduce myself to this grandson of hers.” Tim wiggles his eyebrows in a way that Jon has learned is meant to be enticing but looks more like they’re drunk at a disco club. “Just thought I’d see if you wanted in on it.” 

Jon goes through a quick mental scroll of appropriate reactions before finally just letting his hands drop onto the desk with a dull thud. “Get out of my office.” 

Tim holds up his hands, grinning, not the least bit put off by Jon’s tone. He pushes himself out of the chair and heads back to the door. “Alright, fine. Not all of us can have a nice boyfriend like Martin.”

Jon throws one of his (multiple) stress balls, and Tim cackles as he dodges back into the main floor of the office. 

Sasha pokes her head up from over the edge of her cubicle. “I already told you not to do it!” 

“I like to live life on the wild side!” Tim calls over his shoulder, stopping by his desk long enough to scoop up a sheaf of papers. 

“And I like to keep my nose where it belongs,” Jon grumbles as Sasha heaves a heavy sigh. Jon watches as she lifts her cellphone and aims it after Tim’s retreating form. “What are you doing?” 

“Filming it, so I can play the moment of his murder on loop at his funeral.” 

Jon honestly can’t blame her. 

In the end, it only results in Tim shuffling back to his desk with a slightly cowed expression — still living, which Sasha tries to reassure him is a plus. “She just gave me that _look_ of hers the moment the door opened,” he says. 

Sasha nods sympathetically, and Jon tries not to say _I told you so_. 

Forty minutes later, and Jon has pretty much forgotten the fact that someone, with some sort of familial relation to Gertrude, had stormed into the office. Tim’s energy level is back to normal, though Jon can see his head swivel towards Gertrude’s office door every so often. 

Jon has a stack of papers in one hand as he heads to the copier when the door to Gertrude’s office opens. 

Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares — and Jon is sorry to admit that he is no exception. 

A tall, pale young man with long dark hair steps out into the general office. He has a duffle slung over one shoulder, and a sour look that could probably curdle milk. 

He is also _incredibly_ familiar, and Jon can’t help the confused swoop of emotions that hits his stomach. “Gerard?” 

The man stops, and he looks up at the sound of his name. The frown is gone in an instant, though the expression that replaces it is probably the physical equivalent of what Jon feels at that exact moment. “Jonathan.” 

And then Gerard laughs and crosses the space between them with an easy, loping stride. 

Jon barely has enough brain power to set the papers down and extend one hand before Gerard clasps it warmly in both of his own. “You haven’t changed a bit.” 

Gerard gives him a once-over, and there’s a degree of fondness in his smile as he meets Jon’s eyes. “You’ve changed a lot.” 

“It’s been ten years.” 

“Just over, yeah.” 

Jon’s keenly aware of the attention from the others on his back, but he can’t help it. “You’re related to Gertrude?” 

Gerard makes a vague sort of shrug and hum in the back of his throat. “Long story.” 

“I—” Jon starts before realizing that he doesn’t know what he actually wants to say. “I should be getting back to work but—” No, that wasn’t it, but there’s too many pieces that he doesn’t know how to process. 

“Oh, yeah. Totally. Hey, I’ll be in town for the foreseeable future. Drinks? On me.” Gerard smiles in a way that makes Jon feel twenty again, young and reckless and dangerous. “We can catch up.” 

“I’d like that,” he says, and he means it. He gives Gerard his cell number and a watery smile as the other man turns to leave. 

Jon watches him go in stunned silence. 

The doors to the office barely swing shut by the time Tim pounces, shaking him wildly by the shoulders. “What was that?!” he practically howls, yanking Jon away from the papers he makes a feeble attempt to grab. “Jonathan Sims, what was that?!” 

“My… ex from college.” 

Across the room, Sasha attempts to stifle a gasp of surprise behind her hands. 

Tim sags dramatically against him, and Jon stumbles beneath the sudden extra weight. “You absolute bastard!” 

“What?!” 

“I just learned way too much about you in that one sentence.” 

Jon attempts to shove him off, but it doesn’t work. “Don’t you have work to be doing?” he asks. 

“Too late, this will be all I think about for the rest of the day.” Tim stops the dramatics and glances towards the door to the office, but Gerard is already gone from the hallway. “Well, now you’re obligated to introduce me to him.” 

“I will do no such thing—” 

Gertrude appears in the door to her office, and Jon and Tim immediately straighten their posture. She levels the two of them with _That Look_. “Don’t you have work to be doing?” she asks, and Jon snatches up his papers as Tim nods rapidly with a ‘yes ma’am, right away!’ 

Still, she gives Jon an amused little smirk before disappearing back into her office, and Jon spends a few precious seconds trying to decide just _what_ that look is supposed to mean.


	5. Chapter 5

Gerry wonders just what exactly he's supposed to be feeling as he walks Jon home. It's a cold undercurrent to his thoughts as he upholds his end of the conversation — the teasing and the laughter coming easily after ten years apart. 

And it's not like they parted on bad terms. Hell, they didn't exactly part on any terms. He left without saying anything, and Jon, apparently, has forgiven him. Or at least hasn't demanded an apology or an explanation. ("Have you reached out to Georgie yet?" Jon asked at one point during the evening, and Gerry didn't know how to explain that she was the smartest of the three of them, and it won't be as easy to rekindle their friendship. Jon may have forgiven him without question, but Georgie wouldn't.) 

Gerry wants to hold Jon's hand, to see how the feel of it has changed since he last held it. Instead, he keeps his hands shoved deep into the confines of his jacket pockets, balled into fists. 

"So you're enrolled in school again?" Jon asks, and that's his way of double and triple checking that Gerry won't leave again. As if it stopped him the first time. 

"Library sciences," he says, and laughs at the subtle shift in Jon's expression that means he's impressed. "What, I can like books." 

Jon grunts and takes a right, off the main street still teeming with people and onto a quiet residential neighborhood. "Yes, but I can't help but wonder if Gertrude or your mother had put you up to this. Or I would have, back in Uni." 

"It took a bit of figuring out, yeah. Gertrude helped, but you know her." Gerry laughs again as Jon rolls his eyes. "She's not exactly _helpful_." 

"Wonderful boss material," Jon adds dryly, though his lips curl into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. He comes to a stop in front of a stoop leading up to one of several identical buildings. "Well, all the same. I hope that means you'll indulge me in more dates like this." 

Gerry's heart does a funny little stutter in his chest at the same time his stomach sinks, and the dual sensation leaves his brain to answer in the form of panicked static. "Oh come on, what would your boyfriend think if he heard you say that?" 

Jon's smirk drops and he purses his lips instead. There's a hint of frustration there, but not embarrassment or shame at his choice of words. "It's not like I kept any of this as a secret from him." 

"Didn't you say one of your coworkers thought I was hot? Maybe we can do a double-date—" 

"I _refuse_ ," Jon says immediately. "I am not going to introduce you to Tim so that we can go on double-dates. What kind of idiotic idea is that?" 

Gerry can't help it. He's weak, and he's been battling with the reminder of how much he's missed Jon all evening. He frees one hand from his pocket and lets his fingers lightly brush Jon's hair away from his forehead. "What, jealous?" 

"Yes!" And now there's the embarrassment. The surprise at his own words and the trace of a blush beneath his dark skin and, well, _Gerry can't help it_. 

He leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss to Jon's lips. 

There's barely a beat before Jon kisses him back. 

And then Jon pulls back, and Gerry lets him. 

Jon's expression is unreadable, stormy. Gerry wonders if it's just because he never got to learn how to read this side of Jon when they were first together, or if it's new. 

Jon breathes out, more of a sigh than an exhale. Then he turns around and enters into the building without saying anything else. 

Gerry stays right where he was for several seconds — listening to the door swing shut, a car pass by, a late night variety show bleat through an open window. Then he sinks down onto the stoop and puts his head in his hands. 

He doesn't know how long he sits like that, but it must be too long because eventually the door opens again and someone clears their throat to get his attention. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to loiter—" Gerry starts, dragging his hands over his face and through his hair. 

"You're Gerry, right?" 

He twists around and sees a man in flannel pajama pants and a knit sweater standing at the top of the stairs. Gerry can put two and two together, and his stomach drops further. "Martin, I take it?" 

Martin descends the small flight of stairs and holds out a glass of water and a Tylenol. "Jon said you might want these." 

"Oh." Gerry takes the offered items without thinking. "Maybe I drank more than I thought I did," he says, to try and rationalize his actions. Doing that while drunk isn't good, but maybe it will be an excuse they can use and then never mention it again. "I'm sorry." 

He sits down two steps above where Gerry is perched. "For what?" Martin doesn't sound annoyed or angry. But he's using a customer service voice, and that's perhaps just as dangerous. 

Gerry doesn't know how to answer that question, so instead he swallows the Tylenol and chugs the glass of water. 

"If you're worried I'm mad at you, I'm not," Martin says as Gerry hands back the empty glass. "It's fine." 

"I kissed him." 

"Funny, Jon said that he kissed you." 

"He's your partner." 

Martin rolls his eyes and for some reason, Gerry finds that reaction funnier than it should be. "Yeah, and he's a grown man. I don't own him or anything. As long as he doesn't keep things a secret from me, I'm quite alright with the idea of him doing as he pleases." 

Gerry stares at him for a long moment, studying the man sitting above him. 

Martin returns the study with one of his own, expression softening as the moment lingers. "I don't know the whole picture of your history together, but from what I understand, you mean a lot to each other. When you've both had a little time, you should talk about what that means." 

He still doesn't know exactly what he wants, or what that means for him and Jon. Instead, he sighs and shakes his head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're too soft?" 

"When I want to be, I am," Martin replies and pushes himself back to his feet. "It was nice meeting you, Gerry. Let Jon know when you've made it back to your place." 

Gerry gives another sigh as he rises as well. "Thanks. Sorry it had to be under these circumstances." 

Martin gives a light chuckle. "It's fine, I promise. When you two got it sorted, I'd love to hear all the embarrassing Jon-in-Uni stories you have." 

"Oh, I have _loads_." 

Martin laughs again, and Gerry can see why Jon had such a fond expression on his face when talking about this man. "Goodnight." 

"Yeah. Night." He forces himself down the last stair and onto the sidewalk, turning towards the station. He doesn't try and figure out which window belongs to Jon and Martin, to see if he can spot that square of warmth. 

Instead, he shoves his hands back into his pockets and tries to figure out just what exactly he wants. 


	6. Chapter 6

As the gloom outside deepens, so does the gloom on Martin's face. He sits awkwardly on the edge of Gerry's couch and checks his phone every other minute — holding out to the same hope that Gerry does: That Jon will text saying he's free. 

"I'm sorry," Martin says after another check at his phone. "This isn't turning out how I planned." 

"At least it isn't raining yet?" Gerry offers, but he knows that it's only a matter of time. 

"We should just... I'm intruding. We'll reschedule. When Jon's free." He starts to get to his feet, stooping down to grasp the strap of his backpack that has the supplies for the lunch stored within, but Gerry catches onto his hand. 

"No," he says quickly — perhaps too quickly, if Martin's look of confusion is any indication. "I mean... we're friends, right?" 

Martin doesn't respond right away, a thoughtful look on his face, and Gerry gets a horrifying moment to wonder if he misread their last few months together. "Well, _yes_ ," Martin finally says, like it's obvious, like he didn't just send Gerry into a panic. "I hope so." 

Alright, so, not totally wrong, though the silence had felt incredibly uncertain. "Then we can have a date. A friend date. A 'we-date-the-same-guy' date. No, wait, that sounded weird." 

Thankfully, the gloom in Martin's expression eases a bit as he laughs. "You wouldn't mind?" he asks, and there's something in the tone of his voice that is so hopeful that Gerry aches. 

"Martin Blackwood, I would be absolutely _honored_ if you would have a picnic lunch with me. I believe I owe you lots of embarrassing Jon stories." He waves a hand at his small, cluttered living room. "We got the place to ourselves and it's going to rain the moment you try to leave, so you might as well stay." 

"Alright." Martin's cheeks go a dusty pink that is extremely endearing. "Then you don't mind if I use your kitchen?" 

"Have at it. Let me know if you need help finding anything. Shall I set the table?" Gerry pats the coffee table and lifts a teasing eyebrow in question. 

Martin attempts to suppress a grin, but doesn't do a very good job at it. "That would be lovely." 

"We'll make Jon so jealous." Gerry begins to clear the clutter off of the coffee table, moving the school work and video game controllers into a different pile to be dealt with later. 

Sure enough, as Gerry drapes the picnic blanket over the table and sets pillows from the couch down onto the floor for sitting, the rain begins outside in earnest. 

"Now aren't you glad you didn't leave?" Gerry asks, flicking through his phone to find a suitable video to cast on the TV. The screen clicks on, and a tranquil image of a forest with 'nature sounds' replaces the sound of the rain. 

Martin glances over his shoulder, eyebrows lifting as he notices the video. "Trying to set the picnic mood?"

"I can set a different one if you'd prefer — I think we have candles around here somewhere." 

"No, this is perfect." Martin carries over the paper plates ladened with sarnies, pasties, and fruit with the skill of someone who has worked many years in the food service industry. He arranges them onto the coffee table with ease, then straightens up to survey his work with a pleased little smile. 

Gerry puts his hands on Martin's shoulders and guides him over to the designated cushion. "Alright, let me get the rest." 

"The dessert can wait—" 

"Nonsense, dessert will be served at the same time because we are grown-ass men and can eat cake at the same time as a pastie." Gerry gives Martin a wink. "Stay seated and I'll be there in a moment. Maybe text Jon to show him what he's missing." 

Gerry finishes prepping the dessert display -- most of the work already done by Martin the night before. The strawberries are already washed and cut, and the cream and cakes are already made. There is very little for him to actually do. So he pulls down two pint glasses and the bottle of cider, then turns to head back to the sitting room. 

Martin is leaning over the back of the couch, and a guilty expression flashes across his face as his eyes meet Gerry's. 

"Not thinking about coming and helping, I hope," Gerry teases. 

"Uh, no. I was uh... I took a picture." Still embarrassed, Martin holds out his phone to show Gerry the chat with Jon, and the photo in question. 

It's just a picture of him from behind as he reaches for the glasses, the pale light filtering in from the kitchen giving him a faint back-lit glow. 

Beneath it, there's a bubble indicating that Jon's typing, and Gerry wonders if he should be reading the private messages between the two of them because it's not in the group chat when the response pops up. 

_I love you Martin, but I am going to have to turn my phone off if you keep sending me messages._

Gerry snorts as he deposits the dessert and cider onto the table. "Has anyone ever told our Jon that he's a romantic?" 

"He's absolute poetry," Martin agrees with a wistful sigh. 

"One more before he ignores us." Gerry squats down next to Martin, pulling out his own phone for a selfie. "Then everything else will just flood his notifications when he turns his phone back on." 

Martin's smile is fond as he meets Gerry's eyes on the screen. "He's going to be so annoyed," he says after the photo is taken. 

"Worth it, for letting himself get called into work on a Saturday." Gerry sends the picture in their group chat, accompanied by an emoji winking with a heart. "I am going to send him so many pictures right now." 

Martin pours them both a glass of cider and holds one out to Gerry. "To rainy day picnic dates," he says. 

"Cheers," Gerry chimes, delighted and oddly giddy, and taps his glass to Martin's. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, [this is the video he was watching](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNN7iTA57jM%22) for a nice forest/nature ambiance


	7. Chapter 7

“I feel like this little man is mocking me,” Gerry says, glaring down at the deceptively simple instructions. 

Martin stares at the front of the drawer, turns it one way, then the other. “I think we did it right the first time…” 

“No, it was backwards.”

He sets the panel on the floor and, after carefully nudging aside the piles of remaining screws and other equipment they needed, sprawls out on his stomach to study the thing. “Gerry?” 

Gerry grunts and flips rapidly between two of the pages. 

“I’m sorry, I think the one we bought is just… wonky.” 

“What?” Gerry looks down, and frowns. Then he shifts to sprawl out on the other side of the panel and studies it from Martin’s angle. He grunts again. “Well. Shit.” 

“Sorry,” Martin repeats, as if it’s his fault in any way. “We can get you a different one—” 

“No, it’s fine.” He gives a frustrated sigh and uses the bed to haul himself upright. “I told you the smug little Ikea man was mocking me.” 

“We can return it this weekend—” 

Gerry crawls up onto the bed and gives a tired wave of his hand. “Honestly, Martin, it’s not worth it. We already hauled that thing up three flights of stairs and got it most of the way put together. I'm not _undoing_ it all so that we can take it back down again and get a new one.” 

Martin lets out a heavy breath and sets the panel on top of the unfinished dresser. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, and looks like he _really_ wants to say something. 

So Gerry pats the spot on the bed next to him. “Don’t apologize. We literally had no idea. Now it has more character, I guess. It’s just crooked handles.” He pats the spot again with a bit more enthusiasm. “Now we take a break. You’re doing a lot of work for your day off.” 

“I took it off to help you because Jon couldn’t,” Martin says, though he clambers carefully onto the bed and flops onto his back. 

“Mister High and Mighty Editor Man.” 

“Mister ‘I don’t trust anyone else so I’m going to do it all myself the day before the big meeting’, more like.” Martin laughs and folds his hands on top of his diaphragm. “He’s been the same for five years.” 

“Way longer than that, love,” Gerry says casually, propping his head up on his hand so he can look down at Martin. The endearment catches up to him a second later as he watches Martin’s cheeks go pink. “Er, sorry. Was that weird?” 

There’s a beat, then Martin shakes his head. He does a very good job at avoiding Gerry’s eyes. “No, it’s fine. I just don’t think I’ve heard you use it before.” 

“Not on Jon, no.” Gerry does a remarkable job of not adding how easy it feels to use on Martin — how in his head, the affection and the nickname seemed to go together when thinking about the other man. “It just sort of slipped.” 

Martin gives another little shake of his head. His eyes dart over to give Gerry a quick look before returning to study the way the light dances across the ceiling. 

So Gerry uses the opportunity to study Martin’s profile, the gentle slope of his nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling. 

He refuses to catch himself staring at the soft, round shape of Martin’s lips. 

Instead, he marvels at Martin’s hair, the way it fans out on the comforter. He thinks about the way it looks when Jon runs his fingers through it and suddenly _he_ really wants to run his fingers through it. It seems a little unfair that only Jon should get to enjoy those little things (all of them, the sum of them, and Martin as a whole). 

Because he’s reckless and he probably doesn’t know any better, Gerry lifts his free hand from where it rests between them. It hovers in the air just over Martin when the other’s eyes roll to track its movement. 

Calculation and realization pass quickly through Martin’s gaze, and then he looks up to meet Gerry’s. He has to tilt his chin just a degree, and that curve of neck is incredibly distracting. “It’s okay. You can.”

Gerry lets the back of his fingers trace an arc across Martin’s brow, brushing the strands of hair aside. And they keep going, following the shape of his ear and down the line of his jaw, until Gerry runs his finger over Martin’s chin and allows himself the little indulgence of letting the pad of his thumb graze Martin’s lip. 

This earns him a little shiver and a soft exhale.

It’s been so long since he’s been allowed to learn someone new — he relearned Jon, the new shape and space created for him in the life he already shared with Martin, in the old lines that weren’t familiar anymore after ten years apart, but still his body remembered them. Martin is someone new, and Gerry delights in the way that Martin lets him proceed with this study. 

Gerry follows the lines of Martin’s throat, fingers glancing over the pulse point, finding it beating hard beneath the skin. He allows a pleased little smile to hook the corners of his lips, and laughs knowingly as Martin’s gaze immediately drops to his mouth. “Well, now,” he teases as he finally lets his fingers brush back through Martin’s hair. 

“Don’t be difficult,” Martin mumbles, though Gerry doesn’t know if anything he’s doing could be qualified as _difficult_. His head shifts, tilts into Gerry’s hand — and because his palm is flush against Martin’s neck, he can feel the way Martin’s breath catches in his throat. The straining of the muscles as he swallows nervously. 

“I would never dream of being difficult to you, love,” Gerry says, and this time, the endearment is on purpose. He ducks his head a degree closer, hesitating, still maintaining the distance should Martin require it. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Martin thinks about it, then shakes his head. “No. I… I guess I’m just not used to people looking at me like _that_.” 

Gerry’s eyebrows go up, and because he can’t help it, he lets his gaze travel down Martin’s form on the bed beside him. “I know Jon is Jon, but asides from him, I have a hard time imagining anyone could look away.” 

Martin goes red all over, which really only includes the tips of his ears to the lines of his collarbone that extend beyond his shirt. But it’s encouragement enough. “Flatterer.” 

“I only speak the truth,” Gerry says with a laugh, but he’s unwilling to let go of the grip he has on the back of Martin’s head to hold up a hand in defense. He closes the distance a bit more, this time close enough to let his nose bump against Martin’s. “May I?” 

One of Martin’s hands lands on his thigh, nervous and flighty but there. He dances his fingers up Gerry’s hip and waist until it can curl around and settle comfortably against his lower back. “I would like that very much,” he says. 

Gerry kisses him slowly, taking the time to lean the feel of his lips, the shape of his mouth. The little gasp he makes as Gerry’s teeth close gently on his bottom lip. The way he melts as Gerry’s fingers work back through his hair. 

Eventually, reluctantly, Gerry draws back to catch his breath. 

Martin looks up at him with eyes wide and pupils deep and dark, hair mussed and lips red from the kiss, and _shit_ , _this_ is what he’s been missing this whole time? 

“I can’t believe Jon has been hogging you to himself this entire time,” Gerry mutters, once again letting his gaze roam easily over Martin’s blushing face and neck. 

A laugh is startled out of Martin. He settles more comfortably onto the mattress and lifts a hand to fuss with the halfhearted bun Gerry has his hair pulled back in. “I guess you have some catching up to do, huh?” 

Gerry obeys the hint of pressure on the back of his head, bending at the touch and shifting so that he is leaning half atop Martin. “If the gentleman insists.” 

“I do,” Martin murmurs against his lips, and so Gerry kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slips this one in chronologically while no one is looking just kidding i'm making all of you look 
> 
> vit gave me the excuse, so go read [illicio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497300/chapters/56343592) out of spite as she's teasing us with out of order snippets.


	8. Chapter 8

"You are a chiropractor's worst nightmare," Jon grumbles as he digs a knuckle into one particularly large knot of muscle in Gerry's shoulder. He straddles Gerry's back to get a better angle as he works. "I thought I was bad." 

"You _are_ bad," Gerry grumbles back, voice muffled by the pillow. "I think someone told you to relax once when you were a baby and you just decided to be the tense-est little man to ever walk this planet out of spite—" The rest of his thought is cut off by a garbled noise that isn't quite a grunt of protest, and isn't quite a moan, but it's effective at shutting him up all the same. 

"Yes, well, I haven't gotten injured at work, so who is the fool now?" Jon's fingers work down the length of Gerry's spine, the eye tattoos on each knob studying his process. 

Gerry mumbles something else but it can barely be heard over the sound of the apartment door opening. 

"Hello?" Martin calls out, his keys jingling as he drops them into the dish. "Anyone home?" 

"In here," Jon calls. 

Beneath him, Gerry lifts his head enough off the pillow that Jon can see the wicked gleam in his eye. "Oh, _Jon_ ," he says dramatically, and loudly. 

Jon jumps in surprise, hands flying away from Gerry's shoulders. "Sorry—" he starts. 

But instead, Gerry just grins and gives another unnecessarily fake moan of pleasure. "No, don't stop Jon, keep going. Oh your hands!" 

"What the fuck," Jon says once his pulse stops the frantic dance out of shock. "I thought I hurt you." 

"Only with how good this feels. Don't stop, oh _wow_! Jon!" His next cry is muffled as Jon shoves a pillow into his face. 

Martin appears in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face. "What?" he asks, eyebrow lifting. "Are you trying to make me jealous?" 

Gerry laughs into the pillow before swatting feebly at Jon's hands. He's still pinned beneath Jon, which isn't _much_ of a weight, but he doesn't put much effort into it. "Is it working?"

"Seeing as we're all in a relationship already? Not really." He approaches the side of the bed so he can lean over and give Jon a kiss. "And don't let it be my place to tell you how to have fun in the bedroom, but that pillow looked more like it was being used as a weapon." 

This time, Gerry tries to roll over onto his back, but his face gives a small twitch in pain and he flops back onto his stomach. "Questionable, when Jon's wielding it—" 

Jon jabs his thumb into one of the corded muscles and Gerry ends the thought on a startled yelp. "Our delightful boyfriend forgot to lift with his knees at work today, so they sent him home early." 

Concern flashes across Martin's face as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to be okay?" 

" _Our_ delightful boyfriend is giving me an incredible back massage." Gerry jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Jon. He gathers the pillow beneath him and folds his arms around it so he can look back at them easier. "How his knobby fingers are so good at it, I don't know." 

"Jon gives great massages," Martin confirms, and Jon huffs and blushes at the praise. He leans in, shoulder to shoulder with Jon, and runs his palm up Gerry's spine and lets his fingers work the base of Gerry's neck. 

His head tilts forward with a pleased sigh. "Both of you are going to kill me with how good this feels." 

"Don't get used to it," Jon mutters. 

"Are you sure? I might just go and hurt my back again so I can get another massage like this." 

Martin gives a huff of breath as Jon shifts off Gerry's back. "I'd rather you didn't. You can always just ask for one." 

Gerry looks back at Jon with a frown. "I'm pretty sure I was saying _don't stop_ just a minute ago." 

"I thought you were joking," he says, unimpressed. 

"No! I mean, yes, sort of, but I didn't actually want you to stop that."

Jon hems and haws as Martin takes over the process of the back massage. "I don't know... my hands are getting kind of tired." 

"I will give you a hand massage in return." Gerry attempts something that might be puppy dog eyes, but then his eyelids flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes his lips. "Oh my god, Martin, your hands." 

"I'm well aware how much you like my hands," Martin teases as his fingers work down the length of Gerry's spine. "You always seem very keen on telling me." 

"Yeah, but this is better than sex." 

Jon rolls his eyes, but he gives Martin an amused smile. He reaches out and walks his fingers down the first few eyes on the knobs of his spine. 

"I think I'm offended," Martin says, shifting so he can rub his thumbs in small circles at the small of Gerry's back. 

"I love you, Martin, but that was then and this is now, and I love your hands." 

Martin bends down and places a kiss to the tattoo between Gerry's shoulder blades where Jon's fingers linger. 

Jon tilts his hand to drum his fingers against Martin's lips, then pulls it back to run his hands back through Martin's hair. "Well, that's a method I didn't consider: Kissing to make it better." 

"This whole time!" Gerry gasps as Martin presses another lingering kiss to the tattoo, before moving down to kiss the next. "I could have had kisses _and_ a massage and you've deprived me of this, Jon?" 

"Unlike Martin, I didn't want to spoil you." 

Martin grins against Gerry's skin, continuing to kiss his way down the spine. "I think I'm in line to become the favorite boyfriend," he teases, shifting to have better access to Gerry's lower back. 

Jon pouts and ruffles Martin's hair, earning himself a delighted laugh. "Is that a challenge?" 

Gerry lets his head loll to the side and gazes up at Jon. "I definitely think it's a challenge. I'm having a very hard time deciding, but Martin is definitely winning."

"Honestly?" Jon says, and runs his hands up to tangle in Gerry's hair. "I think you're the one who is winning." 

"Don't ruin the surprise," Gerry says with a wink. 

Jon gives an equal opportunity hair ruffle to Gerry before leaning down to press a kiss to the nape of his neck. His fingers trace the shape of the muscles as his kisses follow the trail of tattoos down the spine — already warmed beneath Martin's lips. 

Gerry doesn't even have the breath to manage a quip, only getting out a pleased moan as Jon's hands return to his shoulders and his kisses linger in the dip between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you emerge from your longfic inspired haze to jot down some ot3 before retreating again

**Author's Note:**

> There's no real coherent plot to this, as it is just all fluff, all the time, so it will be updated sporadically if at all :') i've written all that i had outlined, but I am 1000% down for any prompts in this universe~! Feel free to come say hi on twitter & tumblr @ littleladymab!


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